


I have tried in my Way to be Free

by roxymissrose



Series: This Small Dark Place [9]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Child Abuse, Dubious Consent, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 18:42:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22670422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roxymissrose/pseuds/roxymissrose
Summary: The midsummer temperatures slowly gave way to damp, sticky heat. The kitchen, the bath hall, the shops and barns; all struggled to get on with business as usual.
Relationships: Jensen Ackles/Jared Padalecki
Series: This Small Dark Place [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/284478
Comments: 53
Kudos: 48





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As always, many, many thanks to JJ1564, for helping make this a better story. And as always, any mistakes found are all mine.
> 
> _a reminder that Jared is underage—for those who prefer to know, both characters top and bottom in this update, but whether or not it's a preference is open to interpretation._

The midsummer temperatures slowly gave way to damp, sticky heat. The kitchen, the bath hall, the shops and barns; all struggled to get on with business as usual. The electrical fans that Mistress had installed in parts of the estate her last year helped somewhat—at least they moved the air about, so that it didn't sit on one like a thick, damp blanket. 

Jensen had heard the house staff gossiping about the more affluent estates, how they were installing some kind of machine-cooled air. It sounded lovely, and he knew from working with Jim that the Padalecki's estate could very well afford such a thing. Over lunch one day, masterTech Michael had confirmed that yes, quite a few of the estates were installing the cooling machines; his eyes filled with frustrated longing as he explained how the machines were supposed to work. Jensen just nodded and smiled as he talked—the man might as well have been speaking Nihongo for all he understood, but it made masterTech happy. Both Michael and he knew that as long as Gerolt had the majority control of Jared's purse, it was totally unlikely that such a mechanical miracle would ever happen for them, not when the man claimed electrical fans were more than enough, and that boys with hand-held fans were all _he_ needed to survive any heat waves.

The land thralls, of course, worked the fields despite the weather. Water was provided for their comfort, as per law—portioned out in dribs and drabs. Gerolt did everything he could to cut corners—setting bigger quotas per shifts so any time spent in the cooling tent was shortened, and along with the cut in water came a cut in rations. Twelve-hour shifts on minimal water and food...it was an action Jensen saw as deliberately unkind—a form of retribution, since as well as complete their own, those thralls had also to perform chores that had been toddlers' work.

Grown women now walked the fields, gleaning edibles for the pots. Thralls worked the land all day, and then went to the house and the barns to sweep and pluck weeds from gravel paths, fold and replace the estate's cleaned laundry, paint fences and weed the gardens and always, _always,_ complete what chores they were assigned daily as well—to meet whatever quota had been decided was optimal for Gerolt's pocket. The days were hectic, and now there was very little time a thrall could call their own, yet no one complained. No one on Mistress Padalecki's estate was the kind of person who would rather have had toddlers live their lives at risk for an extra hour or two on top of their own work. Sacrifices were understood; they were made, and made gladly.

That morning when Gerolt had awoken to find every single toddler gone, with not even the pregnant mams left, what an explosion there had been. It had been quite a sight, one the thralls would talk about forever. He railed and roared throughout the estate, he'd sent nearly everyone from the quarters to the whipping posts but there was nothing to be discovered. Most every thrall was clueless as to what had truly happened. Oh, everyone had bits and pieces of information, and suspicions and suppositions, but Gerolt was incapable of putting the pieces of the puzzle together and getting the whole picture. Mark had truly been a Captain worthy of the name, Jensen thought proudly. 

And Gerolt's raging—he wasn't exactly in a position to accomplish much. The state had an eye on him—a desultory one, perhaps, but there were still those lingering laws that kept Gerolt somewhat in check, Eir blessed. He couldn't go through the quarters and murder every single thrall, he couldn't resort to overt torture. He sent men out to inquire as to the whereabouts of two grown thralls dragging around a pack of toddlers and heavy mams; sent men all about the county to try and track the runaways down, but whatever Mark and Jake had done, they'd been extremely clever about it. No sign of the vans was ever reported, no sign of the car. 

They'd been scooped up by The Dirigible Captain and flown cleanly away. Or so every remaining thrall prayed. 

Of course, Gerolt had his ways of avoiding too much scrutiny – he was the kind of scum that always floated to the top. He might not have been able to buy groups of toddlers, not without the state taking notice, but he could, and did, purchase adults. Adult in term only, as the state was of the opinion that thralls came to adulthood much quicker than refined freemen did. Slowly, piece by piece, boys—and a few girls—who were only technically not toddlers appeared on the estate.

Jensen was there the afternoon a truck dropped off a leash of newly-purchases thralls, a string of ten technically-not-toddlers. He was horrified to find that about half were branded bodythralls; in all his life, he'd never known that bodythralls were certified training-complete before the age of fourteen. These _children..._ toddler-hood had been the morning before for some of them.  
A brand wasn't necessary to tell which were bodythralls and which would be staff; the ones meant for the bed were the ones whose eyes held no light, no curiosity. None of those thralls lifted their heads to rejoice in the sky, the orchards, the lands. Those little bodythralls stood still, silent, and looked as if it pained them not to be kneeling. It was obvious that it had not been their first time in the Square for a few; Jen's heart broke for those whose first time it _had_ been; it was easy to see that they'd never been on the leash before either, by the way they fidgeted and plucked at the collars attaching them to the long leather lead, and the clumsy way they tried to wipe their eyes without being seen doing so. 

Jensen sighed, shook his head. No one was going to protect them, stop them crying, or teach them how to protect themselves...none of them were ever going to be as lucky as he had been.

He was sent to guide them to the bath hall, still on the lead, to be cleaned and ready to be examined by the Physic. Poor things, that was an experience he wouldn't wish on his worst enemy—well now, he could think of a person or three deserving of the old monster's attention.

The bath's headGirl had them unlinked, and instead of Jim registering them as part the estate's goods, the assistant houseboy did so. He held a pen in one hand and a quirt in the other, threatening those who didn't know enough not to cry with a beating. To Jensen's great relief, the assistant only had to demonstrate once that he meant business. 

Jensen remained, tucked into the shadows, as the master's new acquisitions were scrubbed, then oiled, then waxed regardless that most couldn't grow body hair if it was desired of them, before being oiled again—the headGirl and her staff took no notice of their ages, or what they could or could not bear. A few of the new thralls sniveled and cried under their breaths for their mamas, or aunts, or former masters, despite the threatened beating—their tears were not an issue to the bath hall staff. No one cared. The brand-new thralls were treated the same way Jensen had been treated— _was_ treated; they were spared nothing, and were given nothing. 

Curiosity kept drawing his eyes to the branded. The difference between them and the toddlers who'd been bought off the fields or out of the houses were so apparent, and a little frightening. It was just...the branded were so _hollow,_ most of them; dead behind the eyes despite their pretty smiles, their chiming laughter as they were plucked and powdered and painted, their graceful, elegant movements as they were turned this way and that, all so unlike a child's. 

Eventually Lex noticed him watching the little thralls, took in Jen's expression and tsked. "You're disgusted, aren't you...ah, no. _Sad._ Well, don't be. For some, this is the best thing that could happen to them." He coughed, and rolled his eyes—presumably at himself. "Perhaps not falling into service for Master Gerolt, but still…" he shrugged, his face a smooth mask of indifference.

Jensen stared at him. "I will never understand you. Never." 

"Well, of course you won't. You and I are two vastly different creatures, Jenny. You perplex me and I enrage you." Lex shrugged. "Let me go help these clumsy things. If I can teach the little blobs to serve with some kind of grace and sensuality, I just might be able to keep them from being punished overmuch."

He walked away without another word, and Jensen got the feeling he'd just been verbally slapped.

* * * 

By the time Jared returned from wherever he'd been, life on the Padalecki's estate had returned to what Jensen supposed was now their normal. The silence that had settled over the place was almost welcome, at least to Jensen. Too often he woke to screams that, thank all gods', were only part of nightmares. The memory of those thralls haunted him, stripped him of his rest, and made him into an automaton during the day. Numerous late night visits to the kitchen, numerous cups of relaxant tea did little to help. He could only take comfort from the nurse's promise that eventually, he'd sleep undisturbed again.

With Jared's return, Jensen at least gained a welcome distraction, trailing after Jared as he went about his day. Watching him, wondering about the difference between this Jared and the one who'd left that midsummer night. He seemed not to be curious at all about the lack of toddlers, had no curiosity over the business of the estate, or the silence it had fallen into. He wondered how it was that Jared didn't care. But he must, he was Patricia's son, he had to care, had to be wondering whatever had occurred during the time he'd left.

He was busy, certainly. Like any well-to-do landowner's son, Jared was constantly on the go; there were parties to attend, most revolving around the end of the school year, and the beginning of university—a very early enrollment for Jared, but not an unusual occurrence for boys of his class. With excellent grades, and a need to take on his ownership of the estate, it was a given, really.

Jensen wondered what his place in that scenario was—would he be taken with, or left behind on the estate? He was afraid to take initiative to ask the master. He wasn't even sure how he could ask. Jim might know. Since he was the masterHouseboy, there was a good possibility that the future had been discussed with him. But there, Jensen ran into the same trouble—how to ask Jim if he knew. He was frozen in place, not knowing what the future held, while Jared raced headfirst towards it 

One evening, Jared arrived back home in a sleek electric car, a beautiful, subtle sweep of black and silver—nothing like the flashy automobiles most of his friends drove. He was in a fine mood, snatching Jensen right off the lawn, still covered in dust and sweaty from beating the rugs from Jared's room, and pushing him into the seat next to him.

"Hold on, Jen!" he shouted, laying on the horn to make Jensen giggle. Jared was glowing, showing off as he sped up and down the lanes, demanding Jen wave at everyone they roared past. Jensen loved it—loved Jared's pure joy in the car, loved his dimples on full display, the way he laughed, really laughed, not the artificial little bleat he coughed up for his friends.

As they drove, Jared told Jen the automobile was graduation gift from his father to him, along with a few….other things, he'd muttered, but had pointedly changed the subject when Jensen asked. 

They parked the car in the ample space of the garage, but Jared seemed not to notice it was so empty—he grabbed Jen and pushed him up against one of the big doors, rubbing his nose into the delicate skin of Jen's neck, inhaling and whispering, "You smell so clean, so fresh, so...uncomplicated." 

Jensen was rather proud that he didn't even have to stifle a laugh at his master's words, they flowed right past him like a weak breeze. _Oh, certainly, uncomplicated, yes._ Of course. All freemen thought that the lives of thralls were so simple—that everything boiled down to two edicts; work, and please your master. Any one of the many thralls Jensen had known in his life could have written volumes on "Pleasing Master". 

He said nothing, of course, just tilted his head back, and spread his legs to give his master room. Jared rocked against him, faster and faster, rutting so hard against him it almost hurt. He whispered, hot and wet into Jensen's ear, "Didn't do nothing at all, waited, waited for you…"

And Jensen, fool that he was, his traitor heart had caught mid-beat hearing that, and he finally grew hard as well. 

"God, your smell, your skin, want to see it, touch it all the time. Like you're fucking covered in gold dust." He nipped Jensen's ear, growled, "Want to show you off and make everyone know, they can only touch when _I_ allow it…" 

Now awakened, Jensen's cock stayed rigid, but his heart sunk, not by much, never much any more, really. 

"Fuck, Jen...I don't want to say yes, _never_ want to say yes…" Before Jensen could make out what his master was saying, Jared surged forward and took his mouth, kissing him as if this was his last day on earth and he wanted to leave it joined to Jensen as tightly and thoroughly as possible. His warm, wet, mouth drove Jensen higher, brighter; the heat behind those kisses made his cock even stiffer. It was heady, the feeling of being wanted so much, so almost... _purely, in a way._ Eir, it was sweet, overwhelming. The way Jared kissed and sucked at his mouth, all the while whispering something that Jensen never quite caught, but it didn't matter because Jared's body told him everything.

Eventually he released Jensen, leaving him a shaking, panting mess. Jared just grinned and smoothed Jensen's gray, unseen-staff shirt against his chest with both hands spread wide, coming to rest against Jensen's rabbiting heart; he lifted an eyebrow like he'd finally registered what Jensen was wearing. He hooked a finger into Jensen's collar and pulled him close again.

"My beloved clock-work," he whispered, "My favorite, my best toy…I wish I could have you by my side always, but..." He drew himself up then, the stern expression on his face making him look older by far than his sixteen years. "Why don't you go to the kitchen and get 'Cook to throw something together for us—bring it to my room. I'm going to visit the bath hall; I need these last few days scraped off me. And then, I'll show you how much I truly missed you." 

Jensen smiled, looking up into Jared's hazel eyes, entranced by how much of _Mistress_ was there. It was a clear and beautiful moment; nothing in Jared's face but Patricia's treasured Jared, nothing but fondness in his ocean-eyes.

* * * 

"Did 'Cook send some of those little crackers I like? You know, the ones with the little…" Jared muttered, poking through the tidy rows of crackers and fruit and cheese and chocolates, scattering them across the earthenware tray resting on the downy duvet. Jensen had chosen the tray specifically for this picnic with Jared, loving its history, and remembering how his master had been enamored with it as a child. It was a beautiful thing, decorated in the old style with colorful octopuses and seahorses and other ocean creatures frolicking in and out of painted waves. It had been crafted on the estate long, long ago, in the time of Mistress's grandfather. The one, she'd once explained to Jensen, who'd come from the seashore to settle far from the ocean's sound and scent for love….

Jared made a tiny tower of cheese and meats atop a seed-crusted cracker, scooped it all up in one bite and murmured in pleasure. He waved Jensen to the bed and fed him a slice of pear as a reward. 

Crouching in Jared's bed, naked and covered with sweat and come and the juices of various sweet, ripe, perfect fruit, Jensen felt comfortable. More than comfortable, he felt at home again. He'd spread out on his belly when first coming into Jared's room, and he'd taken everything his master wanted to give him. Now he was propped against a pillow at the foot of the bed, smiling at the way his blinking, yawning master fought to keep sleep at bay, idly picking through a selection of sweets and chocolates—it really was rather cute. The thought crept into his mind that, judging from the way Jared had leaped on him, he must have suffered through a few frustrating days. He tried to imagine Jared having to hold in all that he'd let out on—and in—Jensen, and let out a soft laugh. A bit at his own expense, a bit at Jared's.

Jared twisted away from his study of the treats and focused on Jen. "What?" he asked, but he was smiling. 

"Oh, nothing, Master. I was just thinking about the picnics we used to have when we were little. And how they'd end with you almost always trying to dive headfirst into the pond, and me wading in to fish you out." He laughed softly again, this time genuinely amused by the memory he'd dredged up for Jared. "So many rides wearing a soaking uniform—remember? " 

Unfortunately, that had been the wrong turn to take. "I don't want to think about the old days," Jared grumbled, and tossed an orange segment back onto the mess he'd made of the tray. He flopped back on the bed, pouting at the ceiling. Folding his arms behind his head, he sunk into the downy pillows, his legs left bare and wide atop the duvet. Just enough room for Jen to creep forward, brushing Jared with little kisses as he went—on the arches of Jared's feet, the swell of calves just beginning to darken with hair—on each of his thighs, alternating little kisses on the soft, smooth inner skin, all the while keeping his eyes on Jared, making sure that this was something accepted, wanted...by the time Jensen reached Jared's hips, he was lifting them unconsciously in tiny thrusts. His cock tried to stand alone, long, slim, bobbing with each breath he took, the head shining and tight. Jared ran his fingers over it, squeezing when he came to the top, forcing out a clear bead of precome. Jensen stared at the glistening bead, watched it drip and spin out, dangling lower and lower until finally breaking to paint thin, glistening trails over Jared's stomach. Jared hitched, hips stabbing upwards, and Jensen's attention dropped lower to the swell of his cheeks and the shadowed, peach-fuzzed furrow between. He nibbled at his lip, trying to decide what to worship next, since Jared only moaned and shivered and gave him no direction.

Jensen licked his lips, decision made. He went lower, into that cleft, sliding his hands under Jared's ass to lift him. He pressed his face in tight, tighter until Jared obliged by lifting his hips again and spreading wider. Jen pressed a kiss there, right on the pouting, little pink hole. He pressed his thumbs against it, opening it slightly to lick; he tapped quick, short licks against it that made Jared shake, and finally shout when Jen managed to shove his tongue in a bit. He tongued him, fucking in and out, until Jared melted into the duvet like he was made of hot taffy, spreading legs and arms wide, moaning non-stop. 

Jensen grinned right against him, pressed his teeth carefully, carefully, against the softened, kiss-swollen hole to suck, kiss, and suck until Jared was nearly in tears. His hand flew up to grasp his cock again, but Jensen whispered, "Let me, please."

Wiping his mouth on the sheets, he rose up to bend over Jared, laving long, strong licks over the head of his cock, licked like it was the sweetest treat he ever had, and when Jared looked like he couldn't wait one second more, he took it as deep as he dared, swallowing and bobbing, letting it slide deep before drawing back as slowly as he could, using every single trick he'd been taught. 

It was a messy process, wet and sloppy, just the way Jared liked—getting blown with enthusiasm, lots of noise, and spit, and Jensen grinding his own cock against the bed until he almost came. The second Jared bucked up from the bed, well and deeply in the throes of intense orgasm and blind to everything else, Jensen reached under himself and with a few quick practiced twists of his hand, he came against the sheets—a visible sign of how much it excited him to service his master. 

Jared collapsed to the bed muttering a string of curses before deflating with a little laugh. After a minute or two, he groaned, "Need more room," and shoved the tray over the side of the bed and only excellent reflexes kept the priceless heirloom from ending up in pieces on the tile. Fruit and cheese and sweets scattered over the rug, skittering across the floor to land who knew where. Jensen glanced over to the bed and snickered as he lay the tray on Jared's desk. Jared had rolled to his belly, and was now practically buried under the duvet and pillows. All Jensen could see of him was one tanned arm waving in the air, and a shock of tangled chestnut hair sticking up over one of the pillows. He waved somewhat in Jen's general direction, fingers wiggling. "Come back to bed, Toy. It's cold, n' I'm tired…"

Jensen shook his head and slid back in under the duvet. They were really a horrible mess, and the bed was ruined, but...tomorrow, they'd have plenty of time to give Jared a proper bath, and Trinny or one of the other roomgirls might be willing to give him a hand in cleanup of the room and bed. If not, it wasn't a big deal, not at all….

* * * 

Jensen kept meaning to apprise Jared of the loss of Millie and her girl, but finding the time to bring it up was difficult. He'd meant to bring it up this very morning, but helping Jared with a quick clean-up—just enough to walk the halls presentably—had turned into play. They'd cleaned up after that, and then Jensen had walked Jared to the bath hall. Jared had chatted with the headGirl as Jensen prepared his bath. He'd left him there, still not really speaking about anything important, and made his way to the kitchen. He'd sat with 'Cook as she prepared Jared's breakfast and toasted some bread for him; when Jensen returned to the room with breakfast, he found no Jared, but a few scattered papers on the table where he wanted to set the tray. Glancing at it, he saw they were invoices: one for Millie in the amount of one hundred dollars, one for her toddler—fifty dollars.

Jensen snatched up the papers, almost knocking over the coffee pot. "Damn it to all hells," he muttered. He had a sick feeling that this was an incredibly bad way for Jared to find out. He quickly skimmed the pages, pacing as he did. His stomach rolled as he read….

 _accidental death one, attributed to freeman misstep, neglect on owner's part—accidental death two, attributed to freeman misstep, neglect on owner's part. Wergeld still applies, despite neglect—paid to owner_

But this was...the papers were worded in such a way that it could be either Jared or Gerolt at fault...which meant that they could be used against Jared if wanted. Anyone could pursue this and coax the state into limiting his ability to purchase thralls, reduce the price of any thralls he tried to sell. It might seem a small thing, but it could affect his social standing, put roadblocks in the way of his success. Jensen tightened his fists, crumbling the papers in his hand. Of course the wording in these papers was Gerolt's doing. He might not be clever, but he was crafty, an underhanded old deviant. That his own father had made it appear Jared was callous as he was, that he would seek to derail Jared's future…well. He would have to speak with Jared. Now. 

He stepped out of the room and into the hall, doing his best to walk smoothly. What had possessed him to strap himself into the ridiculous, jingly, jangly collection of metal and leather without being ordered to? Demeaning himself for his master's pleasure. Jensen shook his head, and grimaced. Gods awful noise. It was like being followed by a witless band that played only one instrument and played it badly. What idiot had decided that this was attractive—erotic, even? Probably designed by some pantaloon with an unnatural fixation with humiliating people.

Loud, angry, voices brought him to a stop. He eased forward, slowly, treading carefully to the end of the hall. He could see the door to Gerolt's suite standing open, and Jared and his father arguing. Jared's hair was still damp from his bath, he was wearing a vest and shirt, a towel around his waist, and besides a pair of bath sandals, nothing else. He must have flown from his room the minute he saw the invoices. He was toe-to-toe with his father, who looked like a toad about to explode, and no wonder. Jared was screaming at the man, red-faced, practically spitting in rage. Gerolt was doing his best to look unimpressed, trying to smirk, but Jensen was sure he could see a bit of fear crumbling the edges of his sneer. 

Jensen backed away as quietly, quickly as he could. It wouldn't go well for him to be caught witnessing a pair of masters about to come to blows, whether it was Jared or not. He slipped into his cubby and crouched in his nest of blankets until he heard the Masters pass, still arguing, though gradually sounding more conciliatory and less aggressive as the sound of their voices died.

The minute the hall was clear, Jensen streaked to the bath hall to hide out, throwing himself on one of the benches near the thrall pools. He got his breath back as Lex poked and prodded and picked at him until finally, to protect himself from the man's badgering, he told Lex what had happened. 

"Oooo, Skadi's tits—then you'd better stay here with us until they remember you exist—" Lex ran over to a cabinet near the prep tables, and pulled out a fresh unseen-staff shirt. "Here, I know how much you hate walking around with that peach displayed to all and sundry."

"God, have I told you how much I hate you?" Jensen growled, yanking the over long tunic shirt on with a sigh of relief. 

"Often, and each time, you make my heart go pitta-patta. With such romantic declarations, how is a body to resist?" Lex teased. He handed Jen a mortar and pestle, dumped a bag of aromatic herbs on the table in front of him. "Now, put those woefully in need of a manicure hands to work."

* * * 

Eventually Jared sent for him. He quickly stripped off the tunic Lex lent him, and ran to Jared's rooms, rings and medallions jingling unheard. He pulled up short at Jared's door, checked to make sure he was presentable, and took a deep breath before tapping his identifying knock on the door. He pulled it open without waiting for an answer—he'd never had to.

Jared was standing by the window, one hand pressed flat against the table top pinning the invoices, an overturned chair behind him. He swung around to face Jensen. His eyes, the tip of his nose, were an angry-looking red, his face the color of dough. "I need to know the truth about what happened the end of midsummer, while I was out."

"Master?"

"What did he do, damn it. What happened to the toddlers? I want _you_ to tell me what the hells he did." Jared came at him, all the rage he'd felt for his father was in his face, in the way he grabbed Jensen by one of the cursed straps and slammed him into the wall behind them. "Why didn't you—why didn't anyone stop him?" 

Jensen gaped at him. Was he serious? What were they supposed to do? Stop the man how?

Jared yelled again. "I said tell me what he _did!"_ and slapped Jensen, the blow landing dead center on his cheek, hard enough to bounce his head off the wall. Jensen blinked and blinked, trying to clear stars from his eyes. His head rang with a high-pitched sound...for a second, he thought he was in the bath hall, and Lex was smiling at him, shaking his shoulder. He blinked again, and saw it was Jared, who was decidedly not smiling at him—his eyes were flashing with anger. 

"Why are you asking me? What should I say? You see it there on the papers." Jensen yelled; he suddenly, stupidly, just – snapped. _"The unfortunate loss of property..."_ Horrified, he could hear himself screaming at Jared like a person possessed, but it was as if his voice was coming from some distant audiocon, not connected to him at all. "Oh for all gods sake, _Jared, you're not an idiot!_ Open your eyes! You're not this dense. The bastard killed a toddler and its mam! Oh, wait, no—he didn't bloody his own hands, not precisely; the thrall finally bled out in the arms of a member of his merry little gang of _deviants."_

Jared reared back, his eyes looked huge in his too-pale face, wide with shock which all too quickly reverted to rage. "You have the nerve to raise your voice to me? You _dare_ to speak to your master this way? _Beg_ me not to punish you. Beg, you—you bitch!"

Jensen stared at him, his eyes filling with tears of his own rage. He threw his head back, pulling himself to his full height. Eye to eye with his master, he shook his head violently. _No._

"Your mother would be disgusted," he hissed instead. In that instant, he could see it, see something inside Jared shatter. Not soon enough to avoid it when Jared backhanded him, and unprepared for the blow, Jensen dropped like a felled tree. Jared ripped the belt he was wearing from his trouser loops; he drew it back as far he could before whipping it through the air; the belt cracked like a gunshot when it connected with Jensen's skin. 

It took three hits before Jensen broke; shouted out his pain. Jared kept going, ten stripes more before he stopped—screaming louder than Jensen the whole time.

Jensen was a writhing ball on the floor, curled over himself, his hands clamped over his ears, desperately trying to block out Jared's screams 

Jared finally jerked away from Jensen and threw the belt with all his might. It hit the wall, rebounded, and at the clang of the buckle hitting the wood, Jensen shivered and gasped out, "Please, master, please—" afraid Jared was coming back for a second round. He could hear Jared's hitching breath over his own moans, pouring out of his mouth in jerky sobs. He was on fire and his only clear thought was to get away; fingers reached out, clawing for purchase, sliding on the tiles as he tried to crawl from the room. 

"Where do you think you're going?" Jared shouted. His voice wobbled, it was raw from screaming and cracked in his throat. Jensen shook his head, not trusting himself to speak—if he opened his mouth, he might curse Jared into a hundred hells. He kept crawling, dragging himself towards the door. He was shaking too hard to stand, head spinning with the storm of his emotions; a complicated squall of hatred, fear, betrayal and the barb-wire pain of a broken heart.

"Get out then, go! I don't nee—want you here." Jared had quieted, at least. Jensen risked a look, and saw his master in the doorway. His face was wet, maybe from tears, Jensen couldn't see clearly. In a tone stripped of emotion, he told Jensen, "I don't need anyone," and shut the door on him. 

Outside the door at last, he staggered upright, hissing with the pain. His back felt wet, fire raced over his shoulders and down the backs of his legs. He probably needed to get himself seen to. He had no way of knowing how bad it was, and Gods, he didn't want to see it, anyway. He couldn't let himself know what damage Jared had done; he needed to live in this house, he needed to be able to survive, turn this incident into 'that time Jared got testy...'

Jensen stumbled across the nurse on his way to the kitchen. They led him into the only haven there was, the safest place for him to be at the moment, which was empty, thank Eir, save for a few kitchen boys getting the hearth and the tables and ovens in order for the daily prep. Nurse steered him into a somewhat private corner, an alcove the hearth—the warmth helped bring his legs and arms back to life. They crouched down behind him and carefully washed and applied a healing cream to his back, murmuring instructions in a low, soothing voice. 

They trailed fingers over his back, and in a rare show of sympathy, Nurse gently cupped his shoulder for a brief moment. "If not for the stupid straps, this beating would have been completely minor."

Jensen gaped at them—minor? Where they insane? His back was on fire; the skin had even split in a few places, enough to warrant the use of butterfly closures. _Minor?_

Lex peeked into the little alcove, carrying a mug of something steaming and medicinal smelling. He also bore a thin silk robe, and his customary look of disdain did a good job of masking his concern. "Tchah. You would have barely felt them had you been wearing a wool uniform. Those things are like wearing armor. But naked skin…well." 

Nurse sighed, finished patching Jen's back before standing. "Stay here with that person, Lu—Jensen. When 'Cook arrives, tell her I said you need a good, healthful broth—" They peered narrowly at Lex, "No matter what some poorly-educated persons may think, broth is better for you than shots of brandy. In fact, I warn you, just one shot is more than sufficient."

Lex sneered at Nurse's back as they walked away. "I swan, if I didn't know that deep down inside, they actually love me...here," he said, and pressed the warm mug into Jensen's hands. Jen groaned quietly to himself as warmth surged back into his fingers. 

Lex kept a close eye as Jensen lifted the mug in his shaky grip; he shook his head. "I wish I knew what sort of poison that boy is being given, to behave this way. It's back and forth, back and forth—it's dizzying." 

Jensen halted, the mug half-way to his mouth. Glaring at Lex, he snapped, "It is _not_ dizzying. It is _dangerous._ All along, I've been banking on Patricia's Jared to see me through, but now I see I'm dealing with Gerolt's Jared. I need to find an even path, some way to protect myself until I can figure out how best to approach the situation." 

"Well, that is our job, to learn to read them like books and then make them think what they want comes from them, and not from us. You're smart, though, and cool when you need to be." Lex leaned forward and took the mug from Jensen, sat next to him on the bench. Crossing his legs and folding his hands over one knee, he looked the very picture of relaxed, his mouth pursed a bit, eyebrows raised slightly. The grey of his soft uniform underscored the grey of his eyes. He'd taken to shaving his head clean and it made him look...Jensen refused to even think _interesting._

Lex smirked, picking up the mug and handing it back to Jen. "Everyone sees you as this sweet, pliant, little dolly, but I see now, and Mark saw, the steel underneath. _I_ think, young thrall, that the steel is a blade. Thin, sharp, with just enough flex to skate along bone and cut deeper. " 

Jensen stared at him, mouth open, completely flabbergasted. What in the world..."Instructor, I mean, Lex, what on earth do you mean?"

"Don't you worry, young thrall. Don't listen to me blabber when you have better things to do. Get your rather annoyingly perfect ass to the big table. We need to have someone get some heat and some sugar into you. I think warm cookies should do it."


	2. Chapter 2

Sunlight shining through the leaves and branches of a viburnum did interesting things to the light, Jensen thought. It was mesmerizing, the way a slight, warm breeze fluttered the leaves and made the light dance, shift light and dark and enhance the delicate scent of the blooms. Tiny petals fell on his face, making him blink and pulling a brief smile out of him. 

Eir, he hoped no one came across him hiding in the shrubs like a toddler, risking being found by Jim who would definitely dispense discipline. Truth was, he was afraid to see Jared, afraid of his master's reaction to him, afraid of his reaction to his master...Jared hadn't called on him, leaving Jensen to guess he was feeling the same. 

Part of his effort not to have to encounter his master meant whatever time he was _not_ hiding in the bushes like a hearth cat was spent in the tech shop, as it was a place Gerolt never went, and Jared rarely did these days. The shop was like a second home to him—welcoming, and oddly comforting despite the near-constant din. 

There, he carried tools and cleaned machines and swept the shop floors, being useful—and on occasion, he watched Eric and Michael being strangely mysterious together. He found it endearing, actually, coming across the two of them with their heads pressed together, whispering to each other. The sparkle in Michael's eye was renewed; Jensen thought the expression on his face was that of a giant toddler just managing to hold on to a secret by a squeak. Jen shook his head. He'd have to have a chat with Eric soon. Whatever those two were hatching, Jensen wanted to be in on it—if only to do damage control if need be, he told himself.

* * * 

A week had passed; the days were edging into the middle of a new week and Jensen was becoming anxious—what if Jared decided that he never wanted to see him again? Maybe...oh gods, was it possible that Jared was absent because he was arranging to have him sold? He didn't want to be sold. He didn't want to leave this place he'd grown accustomed to. He didn't want to leave Jared, despite what he'd done. Jared was...Jared was known. And there were other factors involved in the discipline Jared had doled out. It hadn't happened just from anger, or a desire to punish him...Jen knew his master was under stress, so much stress, all the time now. Jensen felt some ghost of pity for the boy, because really that was what he still was. Curse his disgusting sire for taking the boy apart and remaking him in his own cracked, polluted image. If only politics and money and society's ham-handed fist in everyone's life hadn't forced that marriage to between an unprincipled dolt and a decent human being to happen. But then, he supposed, he'd have never had the pleasure of getting to know Mistress, of getting to know Jared. The real Jared.

Jensen wiggled and rustled unhappily about, trying to settle into his nest of blankets and choke down his unproductive thoughts. He needed his rest, needed to be prepared for any event. Still, sleep refused to be caught; he tossed and turned, finally resorting to covering his face to block out any light at all. Crouched down in his blanket, he sang softly under his breath to calm himself—toddler counting songs he'd almost forgotten, but now floated up out of the bottomless pit of his mind. Odd, really, what one sometimes remembered... _"One pea, two pea, three for my master, four pea, five pea, give them all away..._

Jared finally called for Jensen two weeks after the incident. Rather generous of him to be giving them both a more than sufficient time to cool off, Jim had said, or as Lex had put it, time enough for Jen to heal sufficiently well to be useful again. 

Jensen smiled at Jim, and ignored Lex because Lex was a bitter person full of sarcasm masquerading as wit; he was border-line cruel, petty, and altogether too _honest_ about everything. 

Jared was sitting at his desk when Jensen tapped at his door and walked in. He had a folder in front of him, bursting with papers, and was speaking into the small wand attached to what Jensen recognized as a personal-sized audiotape recorder, a brand new marvel that captured one's voice when spoken to. It was a tiny thing, no bigger than a train case, about the same shape and size. As Jared spoke into the wand, Jensen waited silently—he knew moving might create noise that would ruin the recording. It was certainly no hardship to wait, it was fascinating the way the wheels attached to the top turned swiftly, as though they were impatient to gobble up Jared's words. 

After a short while, Jared murmured "end recording," into the wand, and then flipped a switch to turn the machine off. 

"Notes and things for school," Jared said, as if they'd been were mid-conversation. "And papers I need to study for when I take back the estate. It's quite a lot of work," he said, and frowned. The little curlicue lines that always formed between his brows when Jared was intensely concentrating seemed deeper than they had before. "Mother really had been a busy woman."

Jensen thought that was an interesting choice of words considering what her position had been in the world, but he simply dipped his head in acknowledgment. 

"I, um, got this new audio-recorder in the city the other day. It's supposed to be good for recording lectures and taking notes." He kept his eyes trained on the table, avoiding Jensen's eyes. "And music, they say it's good for that too...I guess you point the wand at the audiocon…" He trailed off, with a shrug. 

Jensen made no sound, no movement. He just stood near the center of the room, until Jared actually looked at him, and then sank to his knees and bowed his head. He could hear his master start to speak, and then swallow. Nervous movement—papers being shuffled, an odd sound that must be the audiotape recorder, a fluttering, hissing sound, and then Jared began to speak.

"The other day, the other day..." he began, before going silent. He stood, Jensen could tell by the sound of the chair legs scraping across the tiles. By the sound of it, Jared was pacing, moving things around. "I'm going to be leaving home for school, very soon. I've received permission to leave early. I intend to let most of the staff my father hired go. Jim will be in charge of all future hiring, depending on my permission of course. Turns out that's something I do have final say in, despite not having complete control of the place yet." 

Jensen listened to Jared, well...babble, basically. He knelt, straight and stiff, wondering when his master would come to the point.

"I've let my father know when I return from school, he'll no longer be living at the Padalecki Estate. He'll be returning to the shore place, his final residence, I should think. It's not like it will be a hardship for him, though I'm sure he won't be pleased by the extra travel required to visit his clubs and all. He should be grateful—he has two years before he's stripped of all..." Jared swung around, hands spread with a sweeping gesture meant to encompass the estate, and his face twisted into a sneer, _"...this._ You see, he's not the only one who can move paper and influence people." 

Jared laughed, and Jensen was sure he'd never heard his master make a sound like that before. He snapped his fingers. Jensen raised his head—not more than that. Jared gave him a sideways smile. "People _like_ me, Toy, they want to please me, to do what I want. Give me what I want. It's a skill passed down through bloodlines. Not his, of course." 

Jensen just listened, subtly tilting his head as he did, widening his eyes just a bit, enough for his pupils to expand in the light, just like Lex taught him. He parted his lips just slightly, enough to look interested and engaged. Leaned forward the slightest bit, without breaking Kneel, and waited for his master to finally come to the reason for calling him.

Jared glanced at Jensen; blushing a deep red, he broke off his rambling monologue to gather the papers spread across the desktop, tucking them back in the folder carefully. He puttered around his desk, mumbling to himself, seeming to try and avoid looking at Jen again. Jensen took the time to gaze around the room, noting the differences since he's last been in it—and avoiding looking down at the spot under his knees. 

Somehow, he'd managed to come to kneel in the exact same spot he'd fallen that day. There was faint, brownish stain under one knee...he swallowed, hard, and put it out of his mind. Raising his eyes to the rest of the room, he noted open boxes, and suitcases half filled with clothing. Jared's wardrobe held nothing but hangers, his dresser drawers were open, bits of clothing hanging loose.

Jared had always been a messy packer, so why wasn't his roomgirl helping...Jensen blinked, took a shallow breath, and willed himself to relax. It was surprising, actually, how much it hurt to see that he had no place in Jared's new life. Jensen supposed he should be glad Jared hadn't informed him he was about to be sold. The thought sent a spear of ice through him. Jared hadn't exactly said he was _not_ going to sell him….

Finally, Jared's attention was centered on him again. "Come here," he said, and frowned when Jen started shuffling forward on his knees. "Oh, don't be ridiculous, Jenny, stand up!" he snapped, and Jensen flowed upright, in just the way he'd been taught. Jared's eyes widened; in this light, his eyes were the color of sea water in sunlight, and it was quite easy to see the way his pupils expanded. Jensen felt a spark of pleasure at that. Jared still found him inciting, at least. 

Jared laid back on the bed, waving for Jensen to join him. Jensen eased his way carefully to the foot of the bed until Jared huffed with impatience and yanked him close. The minute Jensen was pressed against Jared, his face went soft, the edges of his mouth curled in a small smile, his touch tender. Everything about him was soft, gentle—except for his eyes; Jensen imagined stories in those eyes. 

Jared peppered tiny, dry kisses all over his face, reminding Jensen of when they were younger and a toddler-aged Jared had made it his mission to kiss every single freckle on Jen's face. How he'd pout when he had to start over, having lost his place—he hadn't even been able to count past ten then. The memory warmed him, pleased him, and Jared smiled back as if he'd read Jensen's mind. His touch remained soft, his hands roamed over whatever bit of Jen's skin he could touch. Slowly, slowly, he pushed Jensen's shirt over his head, and then kissed over every freckle between Jen's shoulders down to his shivering belly. 

Sitting back after pulling Jensen's shirt off, Jared pressed his face into it briefly before tossing it to the floor. He locked eyes with Jensen, smiling—the smile that tilted just one corner of his mouth. That look, his mouth...Jensen couldn't help his reaction to it. His breath came faster watching Jared take his own shirt off. The light played over muscles just beginning to take shape, smoothly rolling under golden skin.

Jared laughed softly, definitely not teasing—then spread himself over Jensen like a blanket. It was startling, how warm he was, how smooth he felt, odd that it felt like a first time instead of another moment of many….

Jen felt himself melting into Jared's touch. It was wonderful not to have to be anything in particular, not a sex kitten, not a clockwork doll, not a thrall frantic for his master's touch—this afternoon, it was just him, just Jared, being together. 

Jared reared back, pulling Jensen's soft trousers down, and then pulled his own off, first flinging house slippers into a corner, followed by socks and his pants, revealing a sinfully soft-looking pair of midnight-blue silk briefs—

"You like these," Jared grinned, teasingly, and chuckled at Jensen's shy nod. Jared rolled to his side, and taking the briefs, rubbed them slowly over his legs, inching them higher and higher, until he was smoothing them past Jen's knees. 

Jensen stiffened under Jared's gaze, the feel of silk following the curve of his thighs higher, until finally Jared was softly stroking his cock with them. 

"Fuu-uck, Jen-toy, the way your prick looks, pearling all over my hand, your belly, fuck, so pretty...getting my briefs wet like...fireballs, you really do like them, don't you? Hells, wish I'd known sooner, I'd have bought these stupid things on my own." He grasped Jensen's cock in a silk-covered hand and pulled it up, cupping his palm over the tip, squeezing until the slit opened like a tiny mouth and then, dropped his head to dip the tip of his tongue inside, so quickly Jensen barely had time to cry out before he was sitting back, frowning to himself, looking at the soaked fabric in his hand. "Father bought these for me...Skadi's tits, what father buys his son drawers like this….?" 

Jensen was sure Jared was talking to himself more than to Jensen, so he touched him to draw his attention back, away from whatever gnarled and ugly thoughts his father engendered. Jensen pulled Jared's hand down but gently, his touch light so it wouldn't seem too bold, too much like a demand, then sucked a bit of the wet fabric into his mouth, licking and sucking at the fabric, and at Jared's fingers trapped under the fabric, until Jared winced and cupped himself. "Damn it, Toy...." 

He pushed Jensen flat, then set to licking long streaks of warmth down his belly, stopping to toy with his navel, drawing little moans from him, making shivers run up and down Jen's spine; his touch sent goose flesh racing over Jensen's whole body. Jared knew what that did to him, how it unspooled his muscles and left him weak and defenseless, open to whatever Jared wanted. "What a slut this navel is," Jared chuckled into his wet skin, Jensen moaned and giggled at the touch. 

Jared followed the slight swell of muscle downward, licked around Jensen's cock, idly laved it with his tongue. Jensen was trapped in his master's grip, helpless to his own response. The rush each time Jared touched him with his tongue, clever fingers, soft lips, sent Jen's hands flailing about until they safely found ground in a grip on the pillows. Just when he thought _one more second, can't last one more second—_ and was overcome with the need to push Jared back _now_ , because there was no way he could hold it back anymore, and oh, gods help him if he came in Jared's mouth without being told to—there came salvation. Jared reared back, rolled off the bed and walked away. 

Jensen bit the inside of his cheek hard enough to bring tears to his eyes. His cock jumped, drooled against his damp belly—saved from doing wrong, but what now? Should he move as well? Should he just...leave? Where were his clothes, what should he do…what was _safe_ to do?

Jared was doing something at his desk, when Jensen dared look, he was facing the bed again, one hand flat against the desk, supporting his weight, the other behind him, moving. Jensen closed his eyes tight, oxygen left him in one sharp exhale. 

Gods. Jared was opening himself. His eyes were partly closed, his lower lip caught in his teeth, his breath came harsh and fast, almost as fast as Jensen's. Little breathy grunts escaped his tightly-held lips and Jensen could only watch, cock bobbing with each breath of his own. 

"Master," he said, unable to keep it back. Jared gasped, his slim, long cock jerked, and a thread of precome dripped, falling away. "Jared…" he whispered, and Jared's eyes rolled back at the sound of Jensen's awe-struck murmur, his hips thrusting against air.

What he did next shocked Jensen beyond all measure. He climbed up on the bed, then climbed atop Jensen, wrapping Jen's cock in his long fingers to steady him and then, sank down on him, groaning like his heart was being pierced along with his body. 

"Hands on the headboard—both of them," Jared groaned. "And don't you move a fucking inch."

Jensen, wide-eyed and wracked by shocks of pleasure, nodded frantically, gripped the iron rods like they were the only thing keeping him from flying off into the sky. 

Jared rode him slow and deep, fast and shallow, and Jensen thought he'd never looked so taken, so ecstatic, so completely drowning in it. Jared was louder than he'd ever been; sweat ran like water down his chest, he flushed a brilliant, burning red from his cheeks down to his cock, dripping like a faucet with each roll of his hips. 

Jensen groaned when he felt Jared tighten, fluttering around his prick. All that heat, squeezing down on him, and him not able to move a finger—he ripped at his lip to keep in the shout that wanted to spill out of him. Gripped the headboard until he felt like his knuckles were going to rip right through his skin, ground his teeth savagely into tender flesh to lock in the slightest noise, and blood tainted every breath he took. 

Jared grabbed Jensen's arms to steady himself and rocked into an increasingly frantic pace, gasping and groaning, cursing and muttering to himself. His eyes flew open and locked with Jensen's. "Jen, Jensen," he gasped over and over, until he threw his head back and screamed harshly, blocking the sound by flinging a hand across his mouth, and biting viciously into the edge, so tight Jensen expected to see blood flow. Jared's cock jerked in his frenzied grip like a wild thing, erupting with string after string of pearly come, landing like a burning brand on Jensen's stomach—and at last, thank the gods—triggering his own orgasm. Jensen shuddered and shook from head to toe, bucking upwards into the heat, the tight grip, the rush rose up through him, taking him like a flash fire, and exploded out of him in a hot wave. All he knew was clenching, jerking muscle, heat and darkness rushing in, sweeping over him as he came.

Bit by delicious bit, he swam back to consciousness, to find Jared had him pinned to the bed, so tightly he couldn't move. Pinned him as he shuddered in his own aftermath, until he pulled himself carefully free. Jen choked off a little moan as his cock slipped out, falling soft and spent against his thigh. 

He'd never experienced _anything_ like it, ever—and from the look on Jared's face, neither had he. It had felt—Four gods, if he dared to put a name to it, it had felt _right._ But that couldn't be because he was a thrall, less than nothing compared to Jared, and what Jared had just gifted him with, well, it was almost beyond his comprehension. The languid, ecstatic feeling evaporated almost the instant the thought rose—why _had_ Jared done this?

Jared said nothing, just sat on Jen's legs gazing at him, and then reached behind himself slowly. He closed his eyes for a moment as he did. Jensen winced as his cock tried to respond to the fact that Jared was feeling himself, feeling around the place when Jen had been. He stared down at Jensen, eyes soft and dark, his lips curled upwards, and for a moment, he looked _happy,_ before Jensen could see the shutters slam shut in his eyes, and his face go cold. 

"Don't you dare ever tell anyone," he growled and Jensen shook his head frantically. 

"Of course, of course. I never would, I swear it, on my life, by the Four, never!"

Jared drew back, his face a chilly mask of distrust, his eyes so cold that Jensen risked taking his hand and calling him by his name. "Jared. I never would," he said softly, looking at his master the way he'd looked at him when he was just a little one, and had needed comfort and support from his most trusted companion. _"Believe me."_

Jared stared a moment longer, than dropped his eyes and nodded, a thoughtful look on his face.

Jensen slept in the bed with Jared that night, pressed up against him, sharing heat the way they had when they were children.

And of course, by sunrise, Jared was gone again, disappeared. Jensen knew he was somewhere on the estate, carefully avoiding his thrall, and probably trying to turn what had happened into a fever dream. And Jensen, he only regretted it a little. There was no way he could ever, ever in his lifetime forget it; how could he forget the sensation, the emotions—even if it'd been a lie, or a trick, or a test.

* * * 

He came in to dinner after spending the afternoon with Landsman, talking to him about the horses that were supposed to have been sold before Mark disappeared. Since there was no one at the moment to take Mark and Jake's place, Jensen had volunteered himself. It was with interest he heard from Landsman that the sales were still going through—that Jared had taken the steps to complete the sales and was still very interested in the horses. That was a pleasant surprise—equally as pleasant as seeing masterTech Michael and Eric in the kitchen. It was a perfect time to meet, since Jared's roomgirl let him know Jared would have use for him in the evening but that the day was his to do as he liked. Catching up with Michael and Eric seemed like the perfect was to spend his time.

It really was a pleasure to see Michael. He kept himself scarce these days, since his job had been whittled down to basically handyman. It was odd to see a freeman walking around the estate, inspecting generators and electric lines, boilers and such. Michael never complained but it was plain to see Eric was quite vexed by his master's loss of status, and that seemed to be the subject under discussion at the moment.

"Eric, my dear, it doesn't matter. We still have my shop, and I haven't been stopped from working with other estates and I think…" He rested his head on his chin. "You know, I think I'd like very much to do some traveling. Maybe I'll speak to the estate's master, see what he thinks. Jared's always struck me as the kind of fellow who'd love travel. Maybe he and Jensen might like to travel with us…." 

'Cook and her staff looked over at Michael, eyeing him, then eyeing Eric, waiting. After a bit, Eric cleared his throat, murmured, "Michael, Jared won't be in charge for another two years. And if I'm not mistaken, he'll be at school before then?" he glanced over at Jensen, waiting for affirmation.

"Yes, Jared is leaving, soon. Going on to school." And had still not let Jensen in on exactly what lay in store for him.

"Really?" Michael looked surprised. "But...hunh. I thought _he_ was Master. He's always flitting here and there on the estate, looking into things, taking meetings with Landsman, his staff and all. Well, that's a surprise. And a sabot in the gears, darn. Well, no matter." He patted Eric's hand, and Eric wrinkled his nose a bit before moving his hand, a move that had Jensen rolling his eyes and Michael chuckling. "Well. You know, this might actually help in the long run…."

Jensen peered over at the estate's technologist. "Have you something in mind, masterTech?"

"I do, young Jensen. I do. Ummm…" he said, patting down his coat, around his neck, until finally Eric reached over and gently slid Michael's glasses down from where he'd perched them on his head. "Oh. Thanks! Hah, forget my own appendages if they weren't firmly attached," he muttered and began scribbling something in a little notebook that magically appeared from one sleeve. Jim came strolling in a few minutes later, his face creased with frowns. 

"Young Master is heading to school, I hear—and why am I the last to hear?"

"Maybe because you're spending the major part of your days putting out fires that massive bull's pizzle keeps starting?" 'Cook snapped. She stalked around the table, along with several kitchenboys, dropping platters and bowls down the center, cocking an eye at Jensen until he leaped up to set plates and cutlery on the end of the table to pass along. "Yes, young master is leaving, which leaves us with that idiot for the next two years. Hope he doesn't kill the estate with his mismanagement."

"Well," Jim said, "That's why I'm here. Between the other heads of the estate, we can run this place alright. Without him if we have to. More'n likely that will be the case and it's probably a good thing for all. We know how he is—long as we can keep him happy, we're golden."

Trinny passed a full bowl of soup to Jensen, leaned closer and muttered a little sideways whisper, "Like, we buy the cheap booze an' pour it in the fancy bottles." 

Jensen goggled at her for a long, shocked moment, before bursting into laughter. "You do not! Do you, really?"

'Cook glared at Trinny. "Hush, you idiot girl—and yes. The amount of alcohol that man goes through. And the low-class bottom feeders he keeps company with couldn't tell a fine scotch from rubbing alcohol spiked with tobacco if their lives depended on it. How I wish it did." She took an aggressive slurp of the leek soup and that was the cap for that conversation. 

"Michael," Jim said, "How are things going?"

Michael smiled at him, pleasure making his expression even sweeter than usual. "Jim, I believe that things progress well. Very well."

Jim nodded, "S'good to hear," he said, leaving Jensen feeling as though he'd stumbled into a conversation the others were halfway through. _Something's definitely going on with these two..._ He peered at Eric, but he gave Jensen a look that said he was just as clueless as to what was going on. Jensen snorted. After Jake, he was taking nothing at face value.

Before he could ask Jim more, masterMaid stepped into the kitchen. "You," she said, pointing at Jensen. "Your master wants you in Master Gerolt's suite. Now." 

He put down his spoon and stood, about to take a step towards her when she smiled, a most unpleasant expression on her face. "Not like that," she purred. "Disrobe, thank you."

Jensen gaped at her, his eyes flicking to her hands to see if she carried the costume he usually had to wear when Jared was in a mood. Her hands were empty. "What?" he said stupidly, looking around at the other thralls in the room. They all had eyes on masterMaid without seeming to have eyes on her. They bent over their dishes, hands in their laps and yet, their entire bodies were concentrated on what was transpiring in the kitchen. Only masterCook had eyes on her, though her face was so blank it appeared she was deep in thought, a million miles away.

MasterMaid stepped closer, her eyes narrowed as she hissed, "I said, disrobe. You're not stupid. You understand the language. Immediately." She scowled deeply, her cheeks going a mottled red, but there was something in her eyes as she glared at the gathered thralls...a tinge of fear. She lifted her hand and drew it back. "Do. You. Understand?"

Jensen dropped his eyes, and the others still studied their hands. masterCook swung away from the tense scene, and began loudly, angrily banging about the pots and pans, her back a stiff wall. masterMaid was a bitch, and thoroughly hated, but she was a freeman. They were all powerless.

Jensen began to strip, dropping his clothing piece by piece as masterMaid watched. His jaw twitched, muscles jumping with the effort not to bolt from the room. He wished he could scream, or curse the woman to the deepest hells. He kept his eyes focused on a crack in the stone floor as he stripped down to bare skin in front of everyone he knew. He was nude, without even the tiny relief of being wrapped in straps, an obvious sign that he did so at the master's pleasure and command. He was just _naked,_ and about to be paraded through the house, naked, like a thrall going to the posts for punishment, or to the Square to be sold...or as a load for the knick knack man to pick up.

A deeper, darker weight settled on him, crushed him when he replayed her demands in his head. She'd said, _"Your master",_ not _"the master."_ Which meant it was Jared, not Gerolt, who'd called for this.

* * * 

The room was dark and hot, windows and drapes shut tight, doors closed as well, so not a bit of breeze could squeeze in. Raucous laughter shook the air, crashing against the frantic, pulsing, beat of the Jazz music he knew from the parties Jared used to drag him to. Under it all, a counterpoint of muffled crying and half-stifled sobs that Jensen tried not to hear. It was misery—heat, and shadows; the stink of alcohol, sex , worse, clogged the air. What little Jensen had managed to have of his dinner before being summoned danced in his gut. He was touched, stroked, pushed and pulled and spun about like a billiard ball on the felt until he was suddenly pushed to his knees. Some man, some freeman, master, _someone_ stepped in front of him, took his chin in a soft, damp grip, said quietly, "Number one."

* * * 

After the sixth man pulled away, Jensen swayed, terrified of falling—he was trembling too much to keep good posture. When he managed to lift his head, he shook with the terrible effort, blinking away tears. Lamps flared in the gloom, revealing the room and...and his master. A tiny, pale-skinned thrall with long dark hair and big dark eyes was spread over his lap. She was dressed in an abbreviated, fetish version of a formal house thrall uniform. She looked like a doll perched there, blank-faced, empty-eyed. Jared's expression was no different.

Jensen dropped his head, beyond exhausted. His gut roiled, his shoulders were on fire, his jaw felt like it was dislocated, his soul hung by a thread over a bottomless abyss. 

Jared's father had given him something besides a car, it seemed. 

In fact, Gerolt loomed behind him in the shadows, grinning like an even more demented version of a Cheshire cat. He slapped Jared on the back, burst into laughter when Jensen lost control and folded, vomiting up the contents of his stomach. That earned him three lashes; his head was held down over the puddle and he was commanded to _"clean it up."_

He shuddered and nearly vomited again, terrified to ask how. After the third man had taken him, they'd laced him into leather sleeves that encased him from elbow to wrist and folded down over his hands—for fun. The hand clamped over his neck pushed him lower. 

"Well?" he heard a soft voice and couldn't tell whose voice it was. Was it Jared? His father, one of the hangers-on? The music, the crying, the groaning; he really couldn't tell. Tears escaped finally as he forced himself to bend, lower and lower until his lips almost touched the floor. He opened his mouth, slowly as he dared, tongue sliding out….

A sharp pain to the back of the head drove him forward into the bitter, slimy puddle, smearing his chin and tongue. The acid feel of it on his raw flesh, the taste, the texture, forced a gagging cry out of him. He tried to swallow, he did, but his throat rebelled. He clamped his mouth shut against a fresh spill of bile; it seeped out between his teeth. Someone reached down and yanked his head back, almost pulling out a handful of hair. 

"Never mind, little clockwork toy," a rough voice rasped. "I can see your gears are jamming. I have another idea, a new game to play."

Jensen was dragged upright, and bent over Mistress's rosewood desk, the one piece of her furniture that Gerolt had never removed. Just the thought of touching it with his filthy, ruined body was too much to take; he began begging—"Master, please. Please." _Don't, not here, not where the good memories were, not where I was a person, not on your mother's desk—_

"Mistress," he cried out to wherever her spirit might be, not for help, of course—for strength. "Mistress, Skadi, Eir, _please!"_

"The bitch is dead, no help's comin' from her." Gerolt's voice rumbled in his ear. "Her an' her fuckin' lies, no one's coming to save you, Toy."

Of course not. Who knew more certainly that help never came but a thrall? Strength, though, the will to keep living even when there was nothing to live for; those were the prayers that fell on the gods. _Forever mistaking a thrall's meaning, masters always misreading our prayers—_ The laugh that he gagged up might have sounded like sobs, but what did he care now? What point was there to caring about anything ever? 

"Number one," chuckled someone, and rough hands spread him. Someone cleared their throat and thick, warm, wet hit his hole. Jensen gagged again. Sudden, sharp pain skewered him, shot up his spine, forcing him to bite down hard on a scream, the force breaking the skin of his lip. 

"Look how thirstily he takes that prick," he heard, and "Look how his hole sucks that prick down, fuck, like a mouth gobbling it up—", like he had some choice, or any desire for it. It hurt like all hells, yes, but it wasn't going to kill him, not even permanently damage him, not unless Gerolt...or Jared...wanted it to. How he wished, how he longed, wanted down to the last cell in his body, in the last speck of blood, to kill everyone in the room, butcher them the way they were butchering him….

Jensen forced his eyes to the person helping to hold him down, keeping him bent over Patricia's desk. He mumbled, words difficult with his swollen, split mouth. The grip on his head kept him pressed into the lemon-scented wood of the old desk, spit gathering under his cheek, and tears adding to the puddle of drool and bile and blood under him. "Dead. Dead," he said, and repeated and repeated, between screams of pain and pleas for mercy, until some master, perhaps it was Jared, had him released at last.

* * * 

After the punishment—or maybe he'd just been part of the entertainment—he'd suffered through an exam and treatment by the estate's physic. Kurt's scrabbling, greedy fingers and his oily, artificial concern had been almost as horrible an assault as what he'd already endured. He gave Jensen some cream and a laughing comment about not needing to worry the knick knack man, and, "How about I tell 'Cook to feed you up a bit—but not too much, don't want you getting fat. Maybe you need some ham in your diet, eh?"

He'd laughed and laughed as he walked away, the putrid bastard. 

Jensen was spread-eagled on his belly on the floor, his pillow and all his blankets folded under him in a failed bid for comfort. He couldn't talk, or eat, it even hurt to breathe. He was one long, screaming ache from head to toe. Small mercies that he hadn't cried during Kurt's exam. He took careful, shallow breaths as he waited for Nurse to arrive with real help, and swore to himself that somehow, someday, _Kurt_ would be the one to feed the pigs, and he'd be there watching, laughing at each mouthful of his pestilent corpse they took. For the briefest moment, the thought made him smile, before it made him vomit. 

When Nurse had declared him fit for duty again, he found that Jared had sent orders for Jensen to take himself to the stables. 

At first, he was unable to see it as the gift it was. Mark was gone, and though Will was always happy to see him, he was seldom available; the stable thralls were kind enough, and understanding. Most had known him since his early days, running and rumbling about with the enthusiastic Jared of those days. After a while, it no longer hurt to speak or drink, he walked without a hitch again, and he realized that he was busy enough that his days weren't spent running from his thoughts. He began to feel comfortable again...almost safe. And then Jared called for him.

* * * 

Jensen tapped on the door and was about to open it when the door swung open on its own. Or rather, the tiny thrall, the one with the long dark hair and the big, dark eyes he'd seen at the...the...in Gerolt's suite, opened it. She smiled at him, but he could see there was nothing in her eyes—nothing at all.

Jared snapped his fingers and she turned to him. "You can wait in Gerolt's suite until I'm ready for you," he said, and Jensen watched, horrified, as her eyes came to life...a stuttering, lurching kind of awareness bloomed there. Fear made her rosy skin go milk-white, but the bland, wide smile smoothed quickly as she said, "Yes, Master; Master's suite." 

She tilted her head downwards and swiftly left the room with elegant, graceful steps that drew Jen's eye, each step revealing that besides the overly-tight collared jacket, the extremely short skirt of her 'uniform' was all she wore. Jensen supposed he should probably be angry, or jealous, but all he felt was pity.

Jared meanwhile had moved towards the window, paying his new bedthrall no mind. "I'm going to school," he said, "and I'm not taking you with me...as you can see, father purchased a thrall to see to my needs while at school. I...I can't take you. Hells, I can't even _look_ at you. Everything about you reminds me of—of—Mother, and other times and—and—you make me a _fool_ and that can't be seen. " 

He beat a fist against the window frame in frustration, anger; he dropped his head against the glass and then went on, quieter, almost to himself. "But I refuse to sell you—I won't sell you. You. Are. Mine. We are...we just are.

So. Father's going to hold you for me until I return…." he turned and looked at Jensen finally, who felt as if that abyss had finally reached out to swallow him, he was a footstep away of falling for eternity. 

Jared waved his hand dismissively. "Oh, please Jen. Don't pretend like you won't be happy to see the back of me for the next few years. You'll do well. I'm sure you'll have everyone eating out of your hand by the time I come back."

He opened the door, and motioned for Jensen to leave. "You always land on your feet, don't you, like a clock-work toy, spinning like a gyro. Well, Toy, I'm sure this will be no different. 

Jensen started down the hall, not feeling anything. He stopped when Jared called out again, and this time, the harsh sneer on his face had broken open somewhat, and Patricia peeked out of his eyes. "If...if there is a problem, something that you can't handle, Michael has permission to stand for you."

He shut the door, and Jensen dropped into a heap, right there in the hallway. A cartload of pig shit had just been dumped on his head...and Jared had given him a teaspoon to dig his way out. Well then, he'd do his best. He'd do his absolute best to survive, if only to shove it in his masters faces.

* * * 

Jared had been gone no longer than a few hours before Gerolt's men came barging through his door, pulling Jensen out of his nest of blankets, knocking over his desk and spilling pencils and pens and notebooks to the floor. They grabbed him, dragging him through everything that had spilled to the floor. Heavy boots squashed clock works, popping and spilling their cogs and gears across the tiles, smearing paints and charcoals, tearing papers and books.

They took his pillow, and a blanket, and left everything else behind. 

Gerolt was waiting in the hallway, his moon face nearly split in two with smiling, his eyes dancing with glee. "Well, well, well, Toy. Time's come to put this shit away," he said, and kicked a lone surviving clock-work bird down the hall. He stepped closer, dug his fingers into Jen's collar to whisper, "We're about to undo all the damage good old Patty did to you. You may be too old for me, but that doesn't mean that you can't be entertainin'."

~fin~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here we are at the end of the beginning. When we come back, years will have passed and we'll be in the home stretch. My hope is that it will be one multi-chapter update. I don't want you to wait forever for the end—five years is long enough. Next stop, The Continent! Life changes! 
> 
> Anyone who has questions, concerns, whatever, I hang out on livejournal and you can contact me there at [ roxymissrose.](https://roxymissrose.livejournal.com/profile)
> 
> It's a pleasure. I'm blown away at every update. You guys are so smart, so insightful, and a joy to write for. And many, many, many thanks to [JJ1564](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJ1564/pseuds/JJ1564) for keeping me on track, for holding my hand through the hard parts, and making me look harder at this story. Love you!


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